15. Where No One Can Reach Her #5
Allora's dark eyes fixed on the ceiling, her expression hardening. "So now I'm bound to his entire bloodline? Not just him, but his crazy-ass mother too?"
Kalemon's mouth twitched despite herself. "Apparently the blood rights ritual he used doesn't discriminate. Any blood from his lineage can sustain you now."
"Perfect," Allora said flatly. "Just perfect. I'm literally dependent on the family I'm running from." She pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes. "How did my life become this fucking nightmare?"
Kalemon reached out, squeezing her shoulder. "We'll figure it out. We always do."
Allora lowered her hands, staring at the healer with a mix of gratitude and despair. “How long do I have before I need another dose?”
"Hard to say. Leira's transfusion bought you time, maybe a week or two. But your body is under extra stress right now." Kalemon's eyes flicked meaningfully to Allora's belly. "That's accelerating everything."
Allora exhaled long and resigned. “Yeah… okay. I guess I should say thank you.”
“No, let’s just go back to pretending we hate her,” Kalemon offered.
Allora laughed softly, rolling onto her side and cradling her stomach.
“Every day I feel more tired,” she whispered.
“Tired of running and hiding in dark corners and desolate towns with no indoor plumbing . Tired of… everything.” Her gaze dropped to the swell of her belly.
“I even miss that damn bed in Surian’s house. ”
Kalemon raised a brow. “Girl, you need therapy.”
“I need tequila,” Allora muttered.
After washing up and getting dressed, the two women made their way outside.
Only to freeze.
Because in front of the inn, pulling into the snowy courtyard like it was a royal ball, was a massive covered carriage: rich maroon fabric, thick wooden wheels, and two monstrous black horses breathing clouds into the morning air. Luggage was strapped to the top.
And at the reins, looking like she was born on a battlefield and bred for bullshit, was Leira. Disguised as a well paid coach driver, her new black cloak flared in the wind that she got from who knows where, and a faint smirk tugged at her lips.
Allora gawked. "What the actual hell is that?"
Kalemon stared. "She brought a stagecoach to a manhunt."
Leira's eyes gleamed as she called down, "Get in."
"That's the opposite of stealth!" Kalemon barked.
Leira only shrugged. "Hiding in plain sight. While everyone's scouring the woods for a rat in rags, we'll be gliding down the merchant roads like nobility. No one suspects a luxury traveler."
Kalemon narrowed her eyes. "Where the hell did you even get that shit?"
Leira tilted her head, the smirk widening. "I found it."
"Meaning you stole it," Kalemon muttered.
"Semantics," Leira replied, snapping the reins so the horses pawed the snow in a plume of steam.
Allora crossed her arms. "You said they're expecting us to hide. Who's us?"
Leira leaned back casually, boots resting on the footplate. "Her. You. Me. Us. You're not special anymore, darling. We're in this together."
Allora rolled her eyes. "God help me."
Leira smiled wider. "No gods here, only me."
Kalemon stepped forward, arms crossed. "We didn't agree to go east. You're not in charge."
Leira didn't even blink. "The border to the south is being watched. Anyone with half a brain knows we're heading that way. That's why we won't. We go east. To my vacation home. It’s secluded, protected and mostly quiet with a wine cellar that would put the palace to shame."
She raised a brow, her voice calm but irrefutable. "No one would ever suspect Malec's mother of harboring the one thing he wants most. It's poetic."
Allora and Kalemon looked at each other. The logic was sound, even if the source was insufferable.
"So we just let her happen to us?" Allora muttered.
"We just let her happen to us," Kalemon sighed.
Leira beamed. "Lovely. Climb aboard."
The oversized carriage groaned as it climbed the winding forest road, its wheels crunching over packed snow and patches of ice. The scent of pine lingered subtle in the cold air, while lazy flurries drifted from a sky sealing itself in gray.
At the front, Leira held the reins herself.
She sat wrapped in a thick riding cloak lined with fur, her back rigidly straight, posture regal despite the weather.
The wind tugged at stray strands of hair that escaped her hood, but her gaze never faltered.
She scanned the road ahead and the treeline on either side with the restless vigilance of a predator.
Inside, the carriage was warmer, but no less tense.
Allora sat curled beneath heavy wool throws, her limbs aching, her belly hard beneath her coat. Each jolt of the wheels sent a ripple of discomfort through her body. She pressed her palm to her stomach as if her hand alone could keep her insides from splintering apart.
Across from her, Kalemon sat draped in a drab green cloak, boots still caked with mud, her face carved into stone. She leaned her head against her palm, elbow propped on the narrow window ledge, and said nothing. Between them the air pulled thin, threaded through with exhaustion and unspoken fear.
"So..." Allora muttered eventually, not even lifting her head. "We just let that psychopath cart us around now?"
Kalemon gave a humorless snort. "Did you want to argue with her?"
Allora thought for a beat. "No."
The carriage jolted hard over a root. Allora winced, sitting up straighter. "For fuck's sake. I feel like my organs are rearranging themselves."
"They probably are," Kalemon replied dryly.
Allora blinked at her. "So comforting."
Kalemon's mouth twitched into the faintest smirk. "Comforting is my middle name."
The road curved upward into the hills, trees thinning, the snowy slopes rising around them. Through the window, Allora caught glimpses of Leira's silhouette at the reins: imperious, unmoving, as if she belonged to the path itself.
"So we headed to Malec’s mother’s vacation home?" Allora asked.
"Apparently. Says it's high, secure, and no one would ever suspect her of hiding you there, which for now is the best case scenario for a human woman with a magical baby growing inside them, the open road is no place for you in this condition."
Allora leaned her temple against the frosted glass. Its chill was oddly soothing. "Makes sense," she admitted. "I hate that it makes sense."
"That's her specialty," Kalemon murmured. "Making madness sound like strategy."
They sat in silence for a long while as the carriage rattled and pressed on.
Kalemon turned, her tired eyes settling on the woman across from her — no longer the spark-spitting girl, but a woman worn into a different shape entirely. She looked older today. Not from years, but because of weight. The kind of weight that doesn't leave but buries itself in the soul.
Another long stretch passed before Allora spoke again, her voice hoarse but clinical.
"How does the blood transfusion even work? Scientifically, I mean."
Kalemon exhaled through her nose, straightening slightly.
“Leira and I worked through what we could piece together. It has to do with a specific chemical interaction in their DNA sequences, hers and Malec’s.
A trait unique to their bloodlines, combined with that ancient Awyan spell, the blood rights ritual.
It creates a bond at the cellular level. ”
Allora's brow furrowed, her scientist's mind engaging despite her exhaustion. "So it's not just the blood itself. It's the genetic signature plus the magical component acting as a catalyst."
"Exactly," Kalemon said, almost relieved to talk theory instead of fear. "The ritual must alter receptor sites or create new pathways for absorption. Your body recognized the genetic markers as compatible and integrated them."
Allora nodded slowly, working through it. "Which means my cells are now dependent on those specific markers for homeostasis. Like an addiction, but at the molecular level. My body has been rewritten to need their bloodline's unique chemistry to function."
"Basically, yes," Kalemon confirmed grimly. "The transfusions aren't just treating symptoms. They're maintaining a new baseline your body established after the first ritual."
Allora's hand tightened on her belly. "And the pregnancy is accelerating the demand because it's pulling resources from both systems. Mine and whatever the hell I'm becoming."
Kalemon's expression softened slightly. "That's my working theory."
Allora let her head fall back against the cushion, eyes closing.
"So I'm literally being rewritten from the inside out by magic science I don't understand, dependent on the blood of the family I'm running from, while growing a baby that shouldn't exist." She laughed, bitter and exhausted.
"Great. Just great, I hate this goddamn world! "
"Welcome to my nightmare," Kalemon muttered.
"Our nightmare," Allora corrected quietly.
The carriage rolled on, carrying them deeper into the mountains, deeper into uncertainty, while the two scientists sat in the wreckage of everything they thought they understood about biology.
Snow fell heavy now, clinging to cloaks and saddles, muffling the world in a lonely hush.
Malec rode ahead of his men, his horse pushing through the slush as if it felt the urgency in his bones.
The waystation was deserted, its shutters sealed and hearth cold.
Malec dismounted, boots sinking deep into the frost, and pushed through the door without offering a word.
Inside, the air smelled of herbs, sweat, and something metallic.
The common room was bare, its hearth cold, tables abandoned with crumbs still clinging to the wood.
Malec moved slowly down the narrow hall, opening a door with his gloved hand.
The small chamber beyond was empty now, the cot unmade, the air stale with the ghost of breath and struggle.
His gaze caught on the stain near the bed, pooled dark across the floorboards.
He dropped to his knees, gloved fingers brushing the mark.
Blood.